I applied for the Chorlton Arts Festival back in September
with two proposals, one of a normal exhibition and the other to interfere with
and distort an area of public space. Like
most applications for arts related things I listed my accolades and wrote the
proposal in a way that I thought would come across as arrogant and off
putting. So I was quite surprised to be
allowed to complete both of my proposals as two separate intertwined
events. So there is a lesson in
that. Coy, evasive, polite Englishness isn’t
the best approach to writing artistic proposals and confidence is not
necessarily arrogance.
I went to set up my “installation” or “mural” on Sunday
morning at 5:30am. At 6:30am a man came
up to me asking if I had permission. I
pulled the brochure out of my pocket and opened it to the right page. “See.
Outside Proof. This year. That’s me.
I’m here.” I told him. I asked him if he worked there and then he
said he owned the building. After which
he got inside a black cab taxi’s driver’s seat and drove off. So maybe he is the owner or maybe he just
enjoys saying he is the owner of buildings.
Speaking of tall tales after this I was approached by Jesus
Christ. Or someone claiming to be
him. Though in reality one of Chorlton’s
best histrionic old men. He didn’t
remember me speaking to him 2 years ago.
But why would he? He has so much effort invested within his performance that the real world barely drizzles into him. Would Al Pacino recognize you even though you saw him on the telly once?
I forgot my phone and was meant to be meeting the festival
instagrammer some time around 9am so I had to walk home. At this point it was all just about almost
finished and I was in a sleep deprived self involved feeling of artistic fanciful freedom from
the realities of flesh. This was then
destroyed when I turned the corner and saw what at first I thought was a
sleeping cat. But as I got closer
noticed it was a cat with it’s organs ripped out, that had been tossed about
violently and broken and spattered.
In visions like the above you become confronted with the
truth. That underneath the clean walls
and flat surfaces everything is reducible to gloop, the plastic lives we live
doesn’t go anywhere beyond this surface so when the true nature of gloop and
death is shown to us we just recoil because it shouldn’t exist in our tiny,
self limited worlds. The end of our
lives is usually hooked up to some tubes and needles and all our conflict and
war comes to whatever it rationalizations or lack of rationalizations we
have. Death is not beautiful in our
culture. Dead cats with their intestines
on the pavement are not beautiful to me. It
was the biggest attack ever on my aesthetic sensibilities. But it was the most real thing I've seen all year.
Much as this disturbed me I repressed the experience after I
dealt with it. And considering it now
then I realize that the work I’ve created is in a sense attempting to operate
on the level of a dead cat. It is
essentially street art designed to be inaccessible. Unaesthetically pleasing. Following no plastic populist Golden Ratio. Making no references to anything but
itself. It is untidy, in terms of
production, execution and in presentation.
It’s a part of me that is laughing at clock towers, mobile phone shops
and hospital beds. The dreary
compartments and hospitality of the different places we phase into. Every life a series of transactions. Bound in a Social Contract none of us ever
see or sign. We are doing their very
best to be unchallenging, appealing and boot licking too each other as
possible. That’s how you do self
promotion. “Share me, like me, want me
then I will share you, like you, want you.” Most people don’t like a dead cat. Most people wouldn’t share a dead cat. Most people don’t want a dead cat.
So come and be annoyed by my aesthetically jarring “mural”
or “installation” outside of Proof in Chorlton.
Or be surprised that it doesn’t really live up to my write up of
it. And that you actually like it. Like it.
Share it. BUY IT. BUY ME.
BUY ME. CONSUME (insert more counterculture anti-capitalist clichés here,
perhaps a cartoon of David Cameron being spanked by Rupert Murdoch. That would be clever. That would affirm everything.)
Also I will be exhibiting at Tea Hive in Chorlton for the
next few weeks. I set up that exhibition
on Monday. So there is plenty of stuff
there for you to initiate one of your many life transactions with.